


Beg Me

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Begging, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, F/M, Hair Pulling, Hand Job, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Nikola captures Jon and fits him with a fancy, magic shock collar.During the rescue, Tim managed to get a hold of the remote...





	Beg Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zai42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/gifts).



> I heard you like shock collars, have a magic shock collar.  
> No beta and barely edited

Breekon and Hope half drag the Archivist between them. He struggles weakly, a perfunctory sort of action. He knows he can’t get away but is unwilling to accept whatever fate has in store without at least a token resistance.

Rows of plastic mannequins are lined up, rank and file, through the high ceilinged industrial space give the impression of Stormtroopers awaiting the arrival of Darth Vader. Thankfully, none of the plastic heads turn to follow them as they pass.

“Are all of these— _augh!”_

One of the delivery men catches the Archivist across the face. He staggers to one side, blinking stars from his vision before getting pulled upright again by the iron grip around his arm. He works his jaw briefly and spits a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva on the cement floor.  

Coming to a halt in the center of the room, they push him to his knees, each leaving a meaty hand resting upon one of Jon’s shoulders. He doesn’t offer up much resistance to being forced into his current position. The quickening of his heart isn’t entirely driven by fear, he scowls at the part of himself that seems to be enjoying this. This isn’t some bedroom game, he could actually die here.

The lights cut out, plunging them in darkness. Jon tenses in the sudden dark causing Breekon and Hope tighten their grip on him. Again, he clamps down on that traitorous thrill of excitement running through him. He weighs the risk of speaking again but the fading taste of blood convinces him to hold his tongue, at least for now.

 _Nikola Orsinov certainly has a flair for the dramatic_ , Jon thinks as light footsteps click in the distance, growing steadily closer. If it weren’t for the residual soreness from his earlier manhandling, he would be tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Why, _hello!_ I’m so glad you could make it!” The breathy, stolen voice fills the air. “I even have a welcome gift prepared, Archivist. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Jon holds very still, waiting.

“Answer the lady.” A gruff voice commanded to his left.

The Archivist swallows and clears his throat. “Y-you really shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, but I _insist!_ ”

A spotlight kicks on forcing Jon to duck his head to avoid the full force of the glare. The back-lighting makes it impossible for Jon to make out any details beyond Nikola’s silhouette. Perhaps that is a mercy if it is as bad as she implied at their last meeting. From what he can gather, she is wearing a jacket with coattails that hang down to knee length, swinging gently with each step. In one hand she grips a top hat by the brim and in the other something long and thin dangles from her fingers. It is hard to tell, some kind of strap or short whip perhaps?

In a motion smoother than Jon would have expected from a monster made of plastic, Nikola crouches down in front of him. Though he can’t see it, he feels the smile on her face. “I had this collar made specially, Archivist, with you in mind.”

His heart skips a beat and he draws in a sharp intake of breath. “Right, w-well… be that as it may, I don’t think it would be wise—”

“Shhhhhhh, hold very still.”

Coming from Orsinov, that is an order Jon is very much disinclined to obey. He immediately pulls away from the creature in front of him.

“Tsk, _tsk._ Such disobedience. We will have to work on that.”

Breekon (or Hope) grabs the Archivist by both shoulders, holding him still. The other’s rough fingers grip his hair and wrench his head back, forcing him to look at Nikola.

His breathing is quick and shallow as he pleads with her. “No, please, what do you wan—"

She lunges in with the strap, wrapping it around his throat. He pulls against the hand fisted in his hair with a whine. Plastic arms brush against his face as Nikola works her hands behind his head. The leather strap pushes roughly against his windpipe. A spike of adrenaline hits him as he pulls in a breath through his constricted airway. There is a click at the back of his neck followed by a release of pressure on his throat. 

“There now!” Nikola exclaims, stepping away to admire her work. “Yes, it is a beautiful addition, don’t you agree?”

 “I, uh—” he coughs, wincing as he pulls against the unyielding fingers still gripping his hair.

“Oh, you don’t have to be coy with me, Archivist. This doesn’t have to be _entirely_ unpleasant for you.”

The situation has left him embarrassingly hard and it would seem Nikola had noticed. 

“Gentlemen? I believe your job has finished for the time being.”

His sudden release sends Jon tumbling to the concrete. The sound of two pairs of heavy footsteps retreat from his awareness as the Archivist gathers his faculties. Jonathan tugs experimentally at the leather band encircling his throat. It isn’t tight enough to affect his breathing anymore but when he swallows his Adam’s apple strains against it.

He reaches behind his head feeling for the clasp or buckle but finds none. He looks up to the silhouetted figure of Nikola Orsinov, fingers scrabbling over the collar. “What is this?”

“A collar, silly. Surely this isn’t your first.”

_You’re not wrong._

He says instead, “there’s no buckle.”

Nikola begins to slowly pace, circling behind him. “Of _course_ not. Being able to take it off would defeat its purpose.”

“What um, what purpose would that be?” Jon keeps his face forward, toward the light as he pushes himself up from the floor. A hard, plastic hand arrests his motion, forcing him back to his knees.

“Why, to make sure you behave. Shall I show you?”

Jon bites his lip and reminds himself again that this isn’t roleplay. His body’s reactions are certainly not helping things. He needs that blood in his brain, thank you, not down _there_ serving only as a _distraction._

“Archivist, I asked you a question.”

“I-I-I’d really rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

Nikola laughs and with a flick of her wrist Jon’s world explodes into white hot agony. He tries to scream but his voice is paralyzed by electricity playing across his throat. His muscles seize and he collapses backward to the floor.  

As suddenly as it began, it’s over. He pulls in a ragged breath and begins to crawl away from the thing in front of him.

“Don’t go,” she pouts, “or I’ll need to do it again.”

Jon freezes in place.

“Very good! You _can_ learn!” She tilts her head and take a step closer to him. Nikola tugs him by his hair back to a kneeling position.

“Wh-what do yo— _ow!”_ A quick zap, much less painful from the last, cuts him off.

“I’m done with questions from you, Archivist. There will be no more attempts at compulsion or we’ll have to switch back to a higher setting.”

Jon’s eyes are drawn to what he guesses is a remote in Nikola’s hand. If he can get it from her, he might have a chance at escape. He isn’t as subtle as he’d hoped and she notices where his attention is focused. Slowly, deliberately, she fingers the remote sending a stronger shockwave through Jon, leaving him wrung out and panting.

“Do you understand?”

The Archivist nods, unsure of whether he is allowed to speak at all. A quick zap draws a yelp from him.

“Answer me, Archivist. Tell me what you’ve learned.” Another prod from the collar punctuates her demand.

“Y-yes, I understand. No more questions.”

“Good.” She pauses, tapping the remote to what would be her lips if she had any. “Now then, we are going to play a little game, you and me. There might even be a reward for you at the end if you do well. I know the rules to this game and will share them with you, but only when you break them.”

The spotlight is cut off, leaving Jon again in darkness. He blinks away the afterimage of the bright light and wills his eyes to adjust. It isn’t total darkness but it might as well be for all the good his eyes are doing him right now. His ears aren’t helping either, all he can hear is his own frightened breathing and his pulse pounding in his ears.

_That’s not the only place it’s pounding—Stop! No, focus!_

There is no air movement to speak of in the warehouse, save his own breath. With every inhale he feels the pull of the collar around his neck, reminding Jon of its presence and what it can do should Orsinov wish it.

Is this the game? Has it started yet? Does he wait for instructions? Should he make a run for it, see how far he can get before Nikola brings him to heel with electric force. The anticipation courses through him, feeding his stubborn erection.

Something heavy crashes to the floor behind him. Jon ducks and covers his head to protect from any potential falling debris. Half a beat later, he is on his feet running in what he hopes is straight ahead along a clear path. He slows down after about twenty steps, sticking his hands in front of him. The last thing he needs is to knock himself out by barreling into a wall.  

The warehouse lights kick on with a series of heavy thunks. He throws an arm up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Jon?” Tim’s voice echoes. “Oh, thank god!”

He backs away, it has to be some kind of trick. They found some way to imitate his assistant to fuck with him. He fights desperately against the thought of Tim being forced into a van and brought here. Or worse, Nikola deciding she wants a new voice.

“Come on, Jon.” Tim’s voice is insistent, closer now. “We have to go before they get back.”

_Is this actually a rescue? Would Elias even allow something like that?_

Squinting his still dazzled eyes, Jon risks a glance in the direction of the voice. “T-Tim? Wh—” he cuts himself off, remembering the only rule Nikola had given so far.

“Yes, Jon. It’s Tim. Now come on, we have to _go._ That won’t keep them distracted for long. _”_

The Archivist’s eyes finally clear enough to see the man approaching him. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Tim’s slim figure clad in all black. It would seem he had dressed the part for the raid on the warehouse, he's even wearing a black ski cap, completing the outfit.

Jon pauses for a moment to get his bearings. In the dark, he nearly wandered into one of the squads of shop mannequins. So far, none of them seem to have moved. It might even be possible that they are just normal mannequins and this warehouse just happens to store them. It seems as good a reason as any to attract Nikola Orsonov to this place. Not wanting to trust his luck though Jon keeps as far away from the silent, plastic people as possible as he and Tim flee the building.    

“What’s that on your neck?” Tim asks as they pause behind a stack of pallets along the outside wall of the warehouse.

“A gift from Nikola." He shakes his head. "Don’t ask, we’ll deal with it later.”

Tim chuckles “Well, that _does_ explain some things.”

“What the hell does that mean!? What things?” Jon demands, indignant.

“That for one.” Tim points to the front of Jon’s trousers. “I didn’t expect you to be such a danger-slut, boss.”

Jon feels the heat rise in his cheeks and clamps his mouth shut to avoid further embarrassment.

“And this.” Tim digs into his front pocket to retrieve a small, black device, Nikola’s remote. Jon makes a grab for it but Tim anticipating his move, pulls away. “Oh, no, I’m not giving it up that easily.”

“Tim, please—”

“Actually, I like the sound of that from you, Jon.” A predatory smile spreads across his face. “I want you to beg me to help you.”

“We really don’t have— _ahh!”_ Jon tugs at the collar Tim just used to shock him. 

“I’m going to need you to try that again.” Tim held the remote just out of reach, his finger hovering over it.

Jon can’t tell if he is angry, aroused, or a confused mix of both by the power Tim holds over him. In any case, he decides he has to play along. “Please, Tim,” he forces through gritted teeth, “you said it yourself, we have to go.”

Unimpressed, Tim sucks in a breath through his teeth and shakes his head. “You said the right words, but I don’t think you meant any of them.” His finger twitched downward, shocking Jon, longer this time.

“ _Erhh! Goddammit!”_

“By the way, you might want to keep your voice down. Who knows what could be out there.”

“ _Please,_ Tim,” he tries again, more sincere this time.

“’Please, Tim’ what?”

“We _need_ to get out of here before they find us.”

“Then we’ll have to be quick about it. Shouldn’t be a problem, judging from the state of you.”

“What the _hell_ does that mean!?"

A quick pulse of electricity jolts through Jon in response to his question.

Tim hooks his fingers under the collar encircling the Archivist’s throat, tugging him in close enough to whisper in his ear. “I want to hear you _beg.”_ He pulls back just enough to meet Jon's eyes, watching them dilate. 

Jon tries to pull away but Tim doesn't release his grip on the leather. “T-Tim,” he draws in a shaking breath, “I n-need your help,” Jon pauses to wet his lips, “ _please.”_

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” Tim pulls Jon forward into a kiss, releasing the collar to bury his hand in Jon’s hair. Jon makes small, needy moans as he pushes his tongue into Tim’s mouth. He doesn’t come up for air until Tim pulls him back by the hair. He strains against the grip, eyes pleading. _“Please.”_

Tim smiles and goes in for another kiss. Sucking on Jon’s lower lip, he holds it between his teeth before moving down to work at the flesh of his neck, just above the collar. Tim’s hand slides along Jon’s stomach, working its way lower until he is teasing at his waistband.

Jon gasps into Tim’s shoulder as Tim slides his hand beneath the fabric. Jon’s cock is already slick with precome as Tim brushes his fingers along its length. Jon’s shaking hands fumble at his waistband, undoing the button and zipper to give Tim more room to work.

 _“Please, Tim,”_ Jon begs, “please help me.”

“If you insist.”

Jon bites back a noise as Tim wraps his hand firmly around his cock. Tim runs his thumb in circles around the head, pulling a groan from the back of his throat. Clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle it, he casts about to see if anyone(thing) has spotted their hiding place.

“Are you worried they might catch us?” Tim asks, stroking Jon’s cock.

Jon nods, his eyes wide and hand still in place over his mouth.

Another stroke. “Does that thought excite you?”

A muffled moan escapes from between his fingers as he nods again.

“Pull you back by the collar around your neck and lock you in a set of matching cuffs.”  

Jon squeezes his eyes shut he feels the orgasm build.

“Maybe even a gag to complete the set.”

Jon’s hips stutter as he comes across the warehouse wall.

“Damn Jon, you _are_ a kinky, danger-slut.” Tim offers Jon his knit cap who accepts it with shaking hands. “Wipe off, zip up, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Tim,” Jon draws in an unstead breath and extends his hand, “the remote?”

“Oh, no," he says with a smirk. "You’ll need to work _much_ harder than that.” 

Exasperation creeping into his voice, Jon insists, "But I'm your boss." 

Tim chuckles, catching Jon by the collar and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Pretty sure _I'm_ the boss now."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Do they eventually escape? What caused the initial distraction? Where is everyone else on team Archive during the break out? Will Jon ever get that collar off?  
> Life has all kinds of questions with no easy answers, except to that last question. No, the answer is no. And if anyone manages to get that remote from Tim it will be Elias. 
> 
> *Edited to add* Anyone is welcome to take this and run with it. Especially if it involves Elias coercing the remote from Tim


End file.
